


Grand Paradise

by mintboy (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, One Shot, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 06:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16550669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/mintboy
Summary: After a mishap with a soup-can on a hard day for his boyfriend, Dave is forced to the comforting realization that he and Karkat are always going to be there for each other, no matter the circumstances.For my boyfriend.





	Grand Paradise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittyMotor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMotor/gifts).



“If you need anything, just shout – or text me, or something, okay?” I mutter into Karkat’s forehead, “I won’t even be gone for long, promise. I’ll just get us something to eat and bring it right back up.”

He nods against me.

It’s almost noon, and neither of us have eaten yet. I smooth a hand through Karkat’s hair, which is slightly damp with sweat. He’s shaking, a little, but thankfully his breathing appears to have calmed for the most part. His arms are wrapped around my bare shoulders as I crouch next to the bed. Worry still stirs deep in my stomach. He’s had a rough morning.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come down with me? We can eat breakfast together in the kitchen,” I offer once last time, trailing my fingers to draw a calming circle on his back. I’ve asked a couple times but drew nothing more than little movements of his head from him. I had decided to go down on my own, after some consideration, but, after pondering the thought of leaving him alone while I worry, I’d much rather get him out of bed.

“I’ll come down,” he says, finally, his voice thick with fatigue. I offer him a hand, and he takes it, letting me pull him out of bed. He immediately wraps his arms around me, the fibres of his sweater itchy against my bare skin. I return the embrace, sticking my face in his hair. He smells like sleep.

“Ready?” I ask, softly, against his head.

“Yeah,” he replies, and I join our hands, leading him out of the bedroom.

“Watch your eyes,” I say, turning on the hall light, and I hear him groan behind me as we walk towards the stairs. The trip down is slightly awkward, our hands still intertwined as we move down the narrow, single-person staircase. Once we reach the foyer, we enter the kitchen, and I have him sit down at our table.

 He taps a little beat on the wooden surface, which is thoroughly stained with little lines from sharpies and paint. I stretch, yawning, and fix my boxers, a little, which had started riding up between my legs.

“So, what should Chef Dave serve up today? What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” I say lightly, stepping forward and resting my elbows on the table to lean down and prop up my chin, now eye-level with Karkat. I offer him a stupid, lazy smile – a look I’ll only bear to him. Much to my happiness, the distress has melted from his face, traded for a sort of tired expression. He rolls his eyes at me, yawning.

“You’re insufferable,” he mutters, “just pick something.”

“Well, Chef Dave is a certified kitchen-disaster, so we’ll see what Mr. Boyardee has to offer,” I proclaim, prompting an irritated – but loving – groan from Karkat. I open the pantry, browsing our selection. Beyond our large supply of Chef Boyardee, which I usually eat on a daily basis, we actually have a fair amount of soups to pick from. I’m not much of a soup guy, but there’s a couple I really enjoy; Karkat’s homemade soup included. God, that’s the best. But, for now, I just grab one with a lot of protein, and close the pantry, walking over to the stove. I glance over at Karkat, who’s furiously tapping at his phone, probably playing a game. A little smile graces my face for a second, just looking at him – his hair mussed, still in pajamas, biting on the end of one of his piercings in concentration.

I put a pot on the stove, moving to open the can. Cans and I have a … shaky relationship. This is because of my overall relationship with sharp objects, something Karkat is acutely aware of, thank god. He has a separate drawer for our knives, clearly marked with a big blue sticker on the handle, so I know not to open it. On a bad day, I can’t open a can for my life, but I’m feeling pretty good today. Taking a deep breath, I pull open the lid, trying not to focus on the sharp edge of the metal.

Suddenly, as I go to drag it off, a sharp pain shoots across my finger, and I withdraw a little, taking in a deep, labored breath. I put down the can, lifting up my hand, which is already shaking. There’s blood beading at one of my fingertips, already steadily dripping down my finger and into my palm.

I freeze, my head suddenly feeling like it’s full of cotton. Panic flares in my chest. I can’t avert my eyes – I stand there, staring, as the blood continues to make its way across my skin. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I’m not _safe_ –

“Dave, what the fuck are you doing?” Karkat says behind me, and I hear his phone hit the table. I tense, lowering my head a little. I want to turn around, tell him, do something, but it feels like I’m tied to where I stand.

“… Dave?” I hear the creak of Karkat standing, then a shuffling sound. Then, there’s a hand on my shoulder, pulling me to turn to him.

“I –” I choke out, but I can’t force myself to continue. He takes my hand in one hand, examining the cut for a moment. He breathes out a sigh of relief. He puts his other hand on my cheek, guiding me to look at him.

“Breathe, Dave,” he orders softly, “you’re okay, okay? We’re going to clean this up. You’re safe. Fingers just bleed a lot, you’re safe.”

I nod against his hand, searching his face. I don’t know what I’m looking for. He moves slightly to the side, dragging me along with him, and pulls the first aid kit out of the cabinet. The sight of it makes my breath hitch in panic, and I let out a little choked sound, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Karkat assures quickly, tracing a calming pattern on my uninjured palm. He retracts his hand to open the first aid kit, and I reach after him for a second. He pulls out a little wipe and a band-aid, carefully lifting up my injured hand. The cut is small, despite the blood, but looking at it again sends a wave of panic across my body. Karkat opens the wipe, first wiping up the blood that cascaded down onto my hand. When he reaches the cut itself, he rubs my hand soothingly with his other hand before he touches it, offering a little warning.

“It’ll sting a little, but that’s normal,” his voice is patient and caring. He’s right, it does sting, and I look away. He holds down the wipe a little, applying pressure. When he removes it, the blood is gone, and the bleeding has stopped. He opens the band-aid, carefully putting it on my finger.

“There we go, not so bad,” he reaches up, stroking my cheek. I take a deep, shaking breath. In a sudden, impulsive motion, I throw my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. He quickly returns the embrace, shushing me and rocking the two of us softly.

After a few moments, my voice comes back to me a little, and I swallow thickly, forcing out a shaky set of words.

“I – I’m sorry,” I mutter, my voice cracking a little. Pulling away, slightly, Karkat meets my eyes, offering a kind smile.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he replies, thumbing the corner of my mouth.

“But …” I look down, steadying my breathing again, “you’re having a bad day. I should – I dunno. I shouldn’t’ve lost it.”

Karkat presses a little kiss to my lips, soft and short and full of all the sweetness and love in the world.

“Dave, you can’t control when you feel bad. Sometimes we’re going to feel bad at the same time. You shouldn’t make yourself lie to me – we’re a couple. We have to be here for each other, even if it’s a hard time for both of us.”

I can only nod in reply, leaning back into him. My arms tighten around him. We stand there for a couple minutes, quiet save for a little hum on Karkat’s lips. He knows I hate the silence.

“Wanna watch a movie?” I ask.

“Well, I think we should eat first,” Karkat gives a little laugh. It’s magical.

“Oh,” I feel my face heat up, “I forgot about that.”

“I’ll finish the soup,” he announces, pulling away from me and turning to the stove, “you go pick a movie, okay? You were excited about choosing one last night, so you can pick.”

I let an easy smile melt across my face.

“Yeah, okay.”

We spend the rest of the day snuggled up on the couch, taking turns picking movies and exchanging kisses in between titles. It isn’t easy for either of us – it’s a little shaky, the afternoon and night, and we seem to trade off comforting one and other in soft whispers and small gestures. But, it’s good – because we have each other, and even on the rough days, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is kind of a nod at my earlier hurt/comfort, "Sunshine Superman", which I sort of always wished I had gone into more depth with. 
> 
> This is titled after the Foxing song of the same name, by the way, though I was just listening to their latest album while writing; it bears no relation to the fic (unless you'd like to pin the lyrics on Dave's view of himself, which I guess would work, actually).


End file.
